Hogwarts Host Club
by The Fictionist
Summary: AU. Inspired by the anime Ouran High School Host Club. Non magic. Harry didn't know how he managed to get into the prestigious Hogwarts School, notable for its rich and powerful students. Among them is the elitist Hogwarts Host Club, run by the 'prince' Tom Riddle. Harry didn't know how exactly he ended up involved with them either, but it started with the bloody jeans.
1. Chapter 1

"I didn't do it."

They were the first words out of Harry's mouth, and he immediately wanted to cringe at how guilty they still managed to make him sound.

He could feel eyes searing into his skin, astonished, incredulous, livid and calculating eyes that made his skin crawl, laser-beaming him from every side.

"You moron!" came the icy response. "You have no idea the damage you've caused! _Do you_?"

Harry clenched his fists, torn between defiance and mortification, scrambling to his feet as the furious blond heir stalked towards him. The whole scene around them had frozen, and Harry just wanted to melt somewhere in horror and hide there, whilst the other half of him wanted to protest that the bastard had knocked him and that it really wasn't his fault at all.

"I presume you're about to tell me," he muttered.

"_You insolent little shi_t-"

Harry backed up a step, heart pounding in his chest.

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"I'm a Malfoy, I could have you expelled. My father runs the board of Education, you know."

There was a really bad feeling in his chest.

"I'll pay you back!" he growled, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "It was an accident, bloody hell."

Mercury eyes narrowed.

"And how are you going to do that? You have no idea how much these jeans were worth - £18,000! Damien Hirst, limited edition, only eight in the world and personally gifted to me. And what did you do? You spilled your drink all over them you CLUMSY IDIOT!"

...£18,000? _For a pair of jeans?_  
Harry couldn't help but gape, mouth suddenly unbearably dry.

"I'm really, really sorry? You could take them to the dry cleaners?" he tried.  
The expression he got for that was absolutely murderous, and he took another step back.

"Do you have £18,000 on you? No offence, but you look like you can't even afford a pair of Levis if that hideous, over-sized piece of denim you have the audacity to the call a pair of trousers is anything to go by," Malfoy sneered. Harry flushed, eyes flashing, even as his mind filtered with panic. He took another step back, more from the two hulking figures flanking the heir than from the fuming blond.

Hermione looked on with an awful sympathy, as did Ron, before her eyes widened.

Harry realised why as his next step bought him careening into someone behind him - and please god don't let them be wearing a stupidly expensive shirt or something! Only to be surprised when a pale arm wrapped around his torso to stop him from overbalancing.

"Calm down, Draco," the familiar voice purred. "I'm sure we could come to some kind of agreement here."

_Shit. _

* * *

Hogwarts was a very prestigious school, and Harry knew he was lucky to even be able to attend.

It wasn't that Hogwarts didn't cater to those that weren't especially rich, powerful or intelligent, but...it was famous for students of that merit. The Slytherins, most notably.

They let the 'ordinary' people in too, and then there were the scholarship students - who tended to be nicknamed the Ravenclaws by their peers. They got in for their exceptional grades. His best friend Hermione Granger was one of them.

He got in by his family. The Potters had been murdered when he was very young, only a baby, but apparently the name still carried some weight because he'd been singled out by the Headmaster when he was applying and taken to a separate interview room.

Harry didn't like to think that the only reason he'd got into the school was because of the family connections of a family he'd never even known...but he knew it was probably true.

The attacker had never been identified, but he'd made off with the family fortune that was for sure, so he didn't exactly come under the category or rich, intelligent or powerful.

But connections apparently still counted for something. That was how the Hufflepuffs got in, loyalty and affiliation to a larger family or company. Not that Hufflepuffs had no power of their own, there was a Diggory in seventh year whose father had a successful job, high up in the Immigration office.

Still.

He'd been for five years, at Hogwarts, and most of that had passed quietly. Well, relatively, he did have a bad habit of getting in trouble. He did his work though - he had to, or he'd get kicked out. He was what you might want to call a 'Gryffindor'. Gryffindors were the students the school accepted because whilst they weren't all round genius' like the Ravenclaws, showed potential in another field. Or, perhaps, in his occasion, were charity cases whose parents had once been friends with the Headmaster.

He supposed Hogwarts was all about self interest, with the reflection of talented students upon itself, but it was an honour to graduate there and liable to get you into most careers without difficulty if one had attended. And he really needed that boost in life right now.

So even if the place was full or rich, super smart, power crazy kids and their lackeys, he'd tolerate it. He just couldn't help but wonder if he could have been one of them, if the...circumstances of his childhood had been any different.

It was probably bad to just wish to get it over with in relative peace without pissing off the child of any high standing snot nosed society brat, but he couldn't help but wish for it anyway.  
He had two more years, and then, then he was finally done!  
It wasn't that he didn't love Hogwarts, he had good friends here, and if one ignored the Slytherins everything was a-okay.

If one ignored the Slytherins.  
He should have known it would all go wrong somewhere.

Which brought him back to Damien Hurst jeans, his life being ruined by having pissed off a high standing, snot nosed society brat...and Tom Riddle's arm wrapped around his chest.

* * *

Tom Riddle was the prince of Hogwarts school. Rich, talented, genius, and already running his own powerful company which he'd made for himself, he was perhaps the most famous figure in the school.

Everyone knew him. Even if Harry kind of wished he didn't, right now...

"What's your name?" came the voice at his ear, and Harry straightened himself firmly, sincerely hoping this wasn't going to get worse.

"Harry. Harry Evans."  
He'd never known the name Potter before he came here, and by the time he learned it, it seemed too weird and required something he could no longer live up to.

"Well Harry, Harry Evans, I think it's about time we took this somewhere more private, don't you?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest that too, not particularly sure he really wanted to be hauled off somewhere more private, without witnesses, where he could be discreetly murdered.

It seemed he didn't get much choice in the matter. With a snap of the so-called Slytherin Heir's fingers, Malfoy's two lackeys - Crabbe? Goyle? - stepped up, sweeping up out of the dining room and into...an empty classroom?

He was getting murdered in an empty classroom?  
He was shoved away, rather roughly, and glared as his back hit a table.

A pair of jeans was not worth this! Malfoy shouldn't even have been wearing them if they were so important. Who the hell wore £18,000 jeans to school?!

His unease only grew as he eyed the figures in front of him.  
Malfoy, of course - still fuming, teeth gritted, eyes cold. Blaise Zabini, as composed as ever, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, Orion Black and Zevi Prince.

And then Tom Riddle.  
He sort of wanted to throw up. He really didn't like the way the latter was eyeing him up, or the way they were all scrutinising him, and he clenched his fists determinedly, jutting his chin out.

They were the elite of Slytherin, and none of the so called Slytherins had reputations to be laughed at.

"I'll pay you back for the jeans when I have a job," he bit out. Perhaps the twat should have watched where he placed his legs if he didn't want to trip someone into ruining his precious designer trousers!

"Doesn't get me my jeans back now," Malfoy started, only to pause as Riddle held up a hand. The seventh year was smirking softly, a gleam in his eyes.

"I see no reason he can't start paying us back now, simply for the inconvenience. Our club needs an errand boy, does it not?"

Was this some kind of twisted joke?

"Your club?"

"The Hogwarts Host club...you may have heard of us. We entertain the young ladies and even gentlemen of Hogwarts. Nothing too overt, just conversation. We're gentlemen after all, not prostitutes."  
Harry blinked.

"No way."

"No way?" Tom murmured, raising his brows. "You have £18,000 then?"

"No, but I can pay him back for his bloody jeans when I have a job over the years," Harry growled.

"We could also get you kicked out," Tom studied his fingernails, idly.  
Harry's eyes narrowed, dangerously, and he could almost feel himself shaking with rage, feeling utterly trapped.

"Why do you care so much? It was his bloody jeans!"

"I look after my friends," the boy smiled, all too pleasantly in a way that somehow sent a chill down his spine. He glared for several long moments, teeth gritted.

Fine," he snarled, finally. "How much will this knock off my debt?"

"Depends on your performance," Riddle returned, smoothly. "I'd start by adjusting that attitude of yours. And then we'll get rid of those glasses and find you some more suitable clothes. Rodolphus, Rabastan, take care of it."

And that was how he ended up in the Hogwarts Host club.  
Jeans definitely weren't worth it.

* * *

_A/N: So, I still can't afford to write more crap, but hey. I needed to get this plot bunny out - inspired by the anime Ouran High School Host Club, if you've heard of it. Absolutely hilarious, I was crying with laughter. This isn't going to be a long fic, I don't even know if I'm just leaving it at this or not - just throwing it out as a teaser to clear my head. Might continue if you guys are interested :) _

_It's very random. Sorry. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING WITH MY LIFE ANYONE!_


	2. Chapter 2

Harry didn't even recognise when he looked at himself in the mirror anymore.  
His baggy, oversized version of the uniform - he'd got it second hand, preferring to have money left over from the amount he was given by the school, in case he needed it - had been stripped away from and replaced with a uniform that had literally been tailored for him.

He couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable, and yanked at the shirt, feeling like it should far lower down.

It was quite nice having a blazer and trousers that fit though.  
Still.

He felt all too exposed, especially with his glasses replaced by contacts, and his shoes shined and polished. Everything was ironed and the material was of far better quality than he was used to as well.

He might have enjoyed it if he couldn't feel all the host club eyeing him up.

"Well, you clean up adequately," one of the twins - either Rabastan or Rodolphus, drawled. "You're quite a cute little thing beneath all that fabric."

The other twin continued.  
"You should show it off more. You're in our year, aren't you? Sixth Year?"

"Yes," Harry said, somewhat reluctantly, a little unnerved that they'd even noticed him. He'd taught himself to stay in the shadows, partially as a result to growing up with his Aunt and Uncle. Dudley had thankfully not got into Hogwarts, he'd gone to Smeltings instead, which was a rival school.

Apparently some of the key contributors at Hogwarts - and he was going to bet that meant the Slytherins - didn't really like 'new' money that much, or people who tried to rise above their station as Harry assumed they thought the Dursley's had tried to do.

They'd been furious that he was accepted though. He'd been pretty much kicked out at that, eleven years old. The only reason they took him back at all was because they probably thought they would one day benefit from the Potter name, or something. He didn't know.

"Indeed," murmured another voice. "You've been holding out on people, Harry."  
Riddle. Harry tried not to stiffen, even as he felt the older boy studying him with an open curiosity. "Spin," came the instruction.

Harry didn't move, and eyebrows arched in his direction.  
"I don't like repeating myself. You wouldn't want us to start adding interest to your debt, would you? It currently stands at £18,100."  
Harry started at that.  
"£18, 100?" he demanded. "Malfoy said the jeans were £18,000, where the hell is the hundred coming from?!"

"Look down at your new wardrobe," Prince said calmly. "You didn't imagine we gave out freebies to people, did you?"

Harry immediately wanted to tear the clothes off in frustration.  
"I didn't ask for new clothes!" he protested furiously. "I didn't even want any - I was fine with my old ones!"

"That much is obvious," Riddle smirked, before the expression faded to something cooler. "But if you associate with us, you will dress the part. We are, after all, the ones that will have to look at you all day. I'd rather not damage my eyesight."

"Besides, this in an improvement on your image," Prince added. "You should be grateful."  
Orion said nothing, just continued to watch him, and the twins were grinning on either side of him.

"What type do you reckon he'd be, boss?" they asked Riddle.

"Type?" Harry bit out, uneasily. "I thought I was just your errand boy? What the hell do you even mean type?"

"You're here to help the host club in any capacity that we want or need," Riddle replied lazily. "And type. The idea of the Host Club that we all fit into a different types that are considered attractive to our guests, and so represent everyone's preferences."

"For example, there's Blaise here," Rodolphus said, with a broad gesture of his hand. "The handsome foreigner. Accent to make the ladies swoon, charming, etc etc. Artistic, free spirited, I-can-show-you-the-world-shining-shimmering-splendid..."

"If you keep comparing me to Aladdin," Zabini smiled, smoothly, "I'll stab your eyes out with a pencil."

Rodolphus pretended to cower.

"Then there's Zevi. The clever type. Studious, sensitive, witty, though you might have to draw him out of his shell," they both laughed. If there was inside joke here, Harry definitely didn't see it, and Zevi just rolled his eyes and turned a page of his book.

"Malfoy; the boy band look. Male Lolita. However you wish to call it," Rabastan sighed, taking on a dreamy expression. "Sweet, popular, very metro."  
"I'm failing to see how he's in any way sweet," Harry muttered, in sheer disbelief. He wanted to throttle the little shit for getting him involved in this - this insanity!

"That's hardly the point," Zevi murmured. "He looks the part, and the rest is playing up to the role one has been assigned. Besides, can you honestly contest his ability to act like a fun loving diva?" Harry didn't miss the wry mockery in the Prince Heir's tone, and snorted, despite himself, with amusement. Or perhaps incredulity that this had actually become his life.

He felt like he'd walked into some alternate reality, where normal rules and standards didn't apply.

"Watch your mouth," Malfoy began,at the same time, flaring, cheeks flushed and glaring at him, only to fall silent at Riddle's look.

"Orion is our strong, silent type. Torn between his duties and love," Rodolphus sighed again, clutching his fisted hands to his chest, "it's tragic."  
"Very tragic," Rabastan sneered, rolling his eyes. "But, if you get beneath his hardened exterior, there really is a loving, affectionate young man beneath.

Then they were both snickering again, and Harry's eyes narrowed by how out of the loop he felt. He was definitely missing something here.

"Cute, Lestrange, cute," Orion said dryly.

"What are you two then?" Harry asked, folding his arms, uneasily aware of the fact that Riddle's eyes hadn't left him yet. "The class jokers and idiots?"

"Don't hurt our feelings now, young Evans," Rabastan said. "You won't like us when we're angry."  
This was ridiculous.

"You're the same bloody age as me!" he began, but the twins were already narrating their own 'story'.

"But yes, we are jokers. Cheeky, loveable rogues with a side dash of brotherly love and a sprinkling of homoerotic subtext."

Harry blinked, convinced he'd misheard.  
"What? You're brothers! You can't have homoerotic subtext that's disgusting!"

"You don't go for forbidden romance? Besides, have you never watched Supernatural? The unbreakable bonds of family...it's ever the rage."  
Harry just stared at them for several long moments.  
He would wake up and this would never have happened. He wouldn't have fallen down the rabbit hole into this - into whatever the hell this was!

"...right."

That left Riddle, and his gaze involuntarily darted to the Seventh Year, whose head tilted slightly under his scrutiny.

"It's in the name, Harrison-"

"It's just Harry, actually," Harry bit out. Tom looked at him flatly for a moment, at the interruption.

"As I was saying, _Harrison_, it's in the name. I'm sure you've heard of me."  
Harry's mouth felt dry and he resisted the urge to swallow, fists clenching at his sides again.

"Yes, I'm just not sure I can believe anyone thinks you could be the Prince Charming character," he said coldly. Riddle raised his brow, and, in one smooth movement was on his feet and advancing forwards.

"You don't think I'm charming, Harry?" the other's voice had suddenly turned to a low purr, and it had been velvety before. "That's a pity, because I find you to be a rather exquisite creature. Quite the catch to be honest."

Harry took a step back at the relentless approach, eyes glued to the other.  
"No," he scowled. "I don't. And I'm not a 'creature', nor am I one of your girls, so don't even try it."

He took yet another step back - watching where his feet were going this time so he didn't trip and end up in an embarrassing, sprawling heap of trouble on the floor.

"Now, now, no need to back away so," Riddle said, softly, eyes fixed on him. "I stopped you from getting expelled, remember? I'm not going to hurt you. Are you scared?"

That question brought Harry to an abrupt halt, as he glared, jutting his chin out once more.

"Of you? That's even more laughable than the idea that you're charming," he snapped.  
Riddle came to a halt right in front of him, barely a breath away, and even the twins had gone quiet now.

"Do you know what I think?" Tom asked, his head tilted after a moment, and Harry stiffened as pale fingers reached out, gripping his chin firmly, the pad of his thumb running thoughtfully over Harry's lower lip, pressing down almost painfully as the thought of biting crossed his mind. "I think you are either very brave, or very stupid, errand boy. I think you use this outwards defiance to compensate how out of ease you are right now, and I think, like all things do, that it will crumble with time."  
The thumb and nail pressing into his lip sliced down in one quick movement, as the other released him, with a sting of pain that had Harry automatically sucking on the blood beading on his lip. "I'm the _Dark_ Prince, Harrison." The boy took a step back, spreading his arms. "Welcome to my court."

Just £18,100 pounds to go.  
Ha, just.

* * *

"You're what?" Ron looked like he wanted to laugh, but it was the hysterical oh-my-god-I-feel-so-sorry-for-you awkward type of laughter. "Bloody hell. That Malfoy really is a git. It was his fault anyway, he practically tripped you! Can't you get out of it?"

They'd already expressed their surprise over his attire and interrogated him thoroughly on the events since he disappeared. Harry wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and never come out.

"No, he can't, Ron," Hermione rested her books in her lap, frowning worriedly. "The Malfoys are said to have royal French blood in their veins. They're a very powerful family. They have control over all of the world's major banks and have shares in lots of oil, to say the least. And the rest of this - this Host Club, which can I just say is a horrible idea anyway - all have members in the top five percent factions of society."

"What, even the Lestranges?" Harry raised his brows. "They just seem like goofballs."

"The Lestrange family are also a very old British Family," Hermione said. "They have a very successful ammunition and weapons company. If you ever come across a gun or anything, it's likely they had a hand in it."

Harry blinked.

"Do you know all of their backgrounds or something? You have too much free time on your hands."

Hermione scowled.  
"They're important figures. You should know them too, and my business studies teacher is always talking about them."

"What about the others then?" Ron asked.

"Zabini's family is in diamonds, jewels. And...well," Hermione hesitated.

"What is it?"

"Well, it's said that his mother is a famous Black Widow. You know, marries rich husbands and then they mysteriously die and she gets the life insurance claims and everything left to her. She's very beautiful, and she's never been caught either. The Zabini wealth comes from diamonds, yes they run a string of high end jewelry shops across Europe, but it doubles with that. The Prince family deal in chemicals and pharmaceuticals, medicine, anything of that variety. It's said they even had connections to Fleming - he invented Penicillin."

Hermione drew in a breath, and seemed almost surprised that Harry was listening so carefully. Harry felt a bit guilty about that, and he made a mental note not to dismiss her information-rambles so often.

"The Blacks have a history of being consultants or psychologists. Very high, very professional consultants and psychologists of therapists. They know everybody who is everyone. They may be an even older family than the Malfoys, though it's not known for sure. And I'm sure you guys know something about Riddle already..."

"I'm still convinced he runs the British Mafia," Ron muttered.

"Oi, don't say that!" Harry snapped, as they both turned to stare at him for the outburst. "No, seriously, I have to work for him. I can't afford blood in blood out."

Their surprised looks faded to laughter, and Harry grinned too, albeit uneasily.  
He was so screwed.

It was his first day or 'work' tomorrow.

* * *

_A/N: Huh, wow, guessing you guys like this idea then :D Note, the characters and style is probably going to be very different to Ouran. I might take some ideas and I'm using the premise, but it will all be twisted as there's not much point writing Ouran with Potter characters, as I can't beat Ouran. Besides, Tom is nowhere near our blond adorable goofball Tamaki :P Thanks for the reviews! And I'm off to do work again..._

_PS: No Harry is not secretly a girl in this version..._


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm starting to think this was all just an excuse to tie me to chair and amuse whatever kinks you have," Harry bit out, in frustration.

He heard laughter from the Lestrange twins, and snarled at them, hating being in this predicament. Riddle tutted.

"We outnumber you, I don't need a pretense to tie you to a chair, though I will admit the sight is rather...entertaining. It's not my fault your etiquette is appalling and requires immediate correction before we open. Now, wipe that glare up your face," Tom leaned over to his chair, tapping his chin up with his fingers, and then pushing him back against the chair he was strapped to. "Do you want lunch of not? Because so far you're failing to eat it."

"That's because it's impossible to eat like this," Harry muttered, darkly. The tight fabric clinching around his waist, torso, and shoulders kept him rigidly straight in his hair, causing him to be unable to properly lean forward to reach things. He stabbed a potato and imagined it was Riddle's face.

He was absolutely starving, and had already spent the last hour going over what bloody knife he was supposed to use for what. Who the hell even needed that much cutlery?! Thankfully, the general rule seemed to be work from the outside of what was available, inwards.

"You're holding your fork wrong again," Riddle said, apparently taking far too much pleasure in tormenting him. Harry barely refrained from growling, adjusting his grip with a flat, unimpressed look.

"You're holding your tongue wrong," he bit out. "Most especially in the fact that you're not doing it."

He'd was starting to think they were all chiming in to correct everything he did, regardless of if it was actually wrong or not. Apparently he snapped his napkin too much as well when he opened it - like it was all so bloody easy when he could barely move and felt like he was being throttled!

And the bread - he wasn't even going to get started on the bread! Apparently only "commoners" buttered a whole piece of bread and the correct way was to break off a bite sized piece, butter that, and eat it, and then repeat for every piece of bread one wanted to eat.

And this was just lunch. He sincerely dreaded ever having dinner with the bastards.

"Now, now," Riddle purred. "No need to be so frustrated. We're only trying to help."

"You'll practice your etiquette at home," Prince stated, calmly. "For now I think we need to move on with your training. It's nearly four O clock." Harry noticed that despite his composed tone, he did glance at Riddle, as if seeking permission.

They all seemed to respect and admire him so much, fear him even, catering to his every will and whim - he didn't understand it. They were powerful families, powerful heirs, he couldn't imagine why they would grovel at anybody's feet.

Riddle nodded his acceptance, standing up, and Orion stepped forward to release the makeshift ropes from around his person, examining him with the same quiet inscrutability.

Harry stood up, feeling irritable, and just to spite them grabbed the rest of his bread to actually eat, with a hum, as he followed after Riddle, ignoring the gaping looks he got as a response.

"So what are we doing now?"

"At least he doesn't eat with his mouthful," he heard Blaise mutter behind him. He ignored that pointedly; seriously, just because he didn't eat posh didn't mean he was completely uncivilized either and lacked basic table manners.

"You're going to attempt to seduce me."  
Harry stared for a moment, before laughing.

"Right, yeah, sure thing Riddle - good one."  
They all stared back at him, expressions largely neutral outside of the twins who were smirking broadly. Harry blinked. "You're being serious. This is ridiculous."

"A host is charming, and we need to find your slot among us."

"I know my slot - errand boy," Harry returned, folding his arms. Did they actually think he was going to make more of an idiot of himself with all of them watching and critiquing his 'seduction' skills!? And try and seduce Riddle, of all people? Really?

"Oh, well, in that case," Riddle raised his brows, smiling pleasantly. "We have shoes that need to be polished. Malfoy and Black's dry cleaning needs to be picked up. The floor could do with a mop and I'm pretty sure I could find a maid's costume for you somewhere in the drama department's costume archive. Of course, you can't mop whilst our guests are here, so you'd have to stay late. You could also walk into Hogsmeade and buy some more confectioneries and the silverware could also do with cleaning, and I'm sure Filch, the school taker, would love you to help him pick gum off the bottom of all the desks, and someone's flooded the second floor girl's lavatory again so you could deal with that as well - we like to be good citizens here at the Host Club, and charitably help out those less fortunate in their careers than us, so we make sure to give him and the other teacher's a hand sometime and engage in good society work. Of course, none of this is to be done during club time, as we will require you here to hand out drinks and serve people."

They seemed to think he was unused to that type of work; but he'd grown up with the Dursleys, and Harry stared back defiantly.

"Alright then," he growled. "I'll get started on that then."

Now they really were staring at him, but he kept his eyes fixed on Riddle, defiantly. Rodolphus' jaw had actually dropped.

"Bloody hell, errand boy," he stated. "The boss is not that hideous to flirt with. He's being nice in offering you a step up in your position."

"As what?" Harry snorted, disbelieving. "Instead of errand boy I'll be Riddle's pet? Yeah, thanks, but no thanks I don't actually find that so much of a bloody promotion."

"Well, actually, I was intending to train you into perhaps being a Host - we're rather exclusive to Slytherins at the moment and your lesser, down to earth status may reach a new demographic among our guests," Riddle stated, a smirk on his lips and a frighteningly cold, hard edge to his eyes. "But now you mention it, I am rather liking the pet idea. I could make you carry my bags all day too on top of your earlier duties. I mean, unless of course you'd just like to pay your £18,100 upfront now then?"

Harry's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing dangerously.  
"Oh what a fine fucking prince you are," he returned, almost sweetly. "Dark Prince? You could have just used tyrant, it's more fitting. Or hell, why don't I just put it a bit more down to earth for you and just switch tyrant to bully because the lot of you might all be the little princes in your own empires by the end of the day when you're dead and gone all that's going to be on your grave is 'insufferable twat.'"

There was a dead silence, and Harry could feel himself fuming, even as wariness coiled in his gut. Were they going to get him expelled now?

Tom's head tilted, slowly, and the rest of them seemed to be holding their breath, and Orion looked rather like he wanted to punch him for his comments against their so-called leader.

"What do you want to do, when you're older, Harry?" Riddle questioned, silkily.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Harry bit out.

"Answer the question."

"I don't know," Harry said. "Something in law enforcement."

"Government based. Public man, then," Tom mused. "Perhaps even MI-Insert whichever number we're on here if you're particularly ambitious. The thing about such a job though, and indeed most law enforcement jobs, is that the Malfoys have lots of friends in high places, and I can personally say that I have a lot of favours I can get cashed in. Everyone in this room does...oh wait, outside of you. Tyrant? You just consolidate your understanding of my power over you." Tom eyed him coolly, for several long moments. "Maybe considering your situation, perhaps you should reassess your network efforts and whether or not you want friends in high places as well."

Harry wanted to lash out at the injustice of it, but the worst part was how true what Riddle was saying. It was awful, it sucked, but this was the way society bloody well worked and those dark eyes were telling him.

"Now," Tom murmured. "Would you like to get the mop of would you like to aim your chances a little higher than that?"

But he wasn't completely helpless either. He had a name, and his own contacts, even if he didn't boast about them and they weren't so ostentatious or cultivated and pruned from birth as the vast networks of the boys surrounding him.

"The thing about friends is that you shouldn't be friends with someone, just because of their name or how much money their daddy has," Harry said, shooting Malfoy a scathing look at the last part. "And if that's your definition of friendship and the cold, bitchy little clique that you lot seem to have, then I'd rather find friends in lower places as opposed to masters and servants among you."

He stalked towards the storage cupboard to find the mop, unnerved by how those dark eyes only seemed to sharpen, and follow him.

Had he mentioned that he really hoped Riddle didn't make his fortune being a crime boss?

* * *

Tom Riddle really wasn't sure if he should be reluctantly impressed of just incredibly annoyed with the new boy's spiel - irritatingly sanctimonious as it was at times.

He'd worked hard for everything he had; he wasn't just born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and it was infuriating that this insolent boy would judge him based on preconceptions. He'd already had those days where he was mocked, derided, and he had no intention of letting anyone return to them or get in the way of his success.

He'd have to crush Harry Evans down to his proper size, because he would not tolerate being challenged so openly, to have his empire threatened. It was his, he'd earned it and made it and watched it grow with just his own intelligence and talents to rely on.  
They'd sneered at him then, at the Riddle name, but he'd shown them, he'd proven that he was better than all of them and now they were the ones chasing after his heels and glory.

Maybe that was why he admired Harry a little bit too, and part of him was loathe to obliterate the other entirely.

Harry reminded him of himself, just a little bit, in his determination, his defiance.  
Of course, whether he wanted to be reminded of his own roots and more humble origins was a different matter entirely.

It was certainly a problem to consider, as he idly watched Harry bring around cups of tea, or whatever else was requested, expression blank but for polite little smiles.

He seemed to be quite charming though, in his own way, and maybe that was what he'd seen that caused him to step in and intervene with the jeans fiasco in the first place.

Still. Now was not the place, and he turned his eyes and smile to the guests that surrounded him. In this case, Miss Bellatrix Black.

The young woman was formidable in her own right, talented in her classes - though perhaps most particularly in those on his own personal curriculum, as opposed to anything so allowed by the school. She was beautiful too, even if not wilder and more lacking in decorum and the proper class then her sister Narcissa.

And she had the world's biggest crush on him.

He pressed his lips to her knuckles, holding her eyes with his own.  
"Enchanting to see you again, Bella. How are your violin lessons going?"

"Oh come now, my prince," she returned, with a small, airy laugh, amused by his facade of charming normality. "Let's not talk about such dull things, I feel like I'm tarnishing those lips by forcing them to discuss such mediocre matters, it's a tragedy in the making"

"What would you like me to discuss instead?" he returned, tilting his head a little, with a chuckle of his own. "I wouldn't wish to bore you after all, because the only real tragedy here would be if you left me sitting here alone and deprived of your riveting company."

She edged even closer to him, bold, confident, leaning in close to let her mouth ghost over his, a hand resting on his thigh.

"Perhaps you should stop discussing things entirely," she suggested, innocently, with a gleam in her eyes. "Because I can think of far better uses for you."

"Now, now, Bella," he purred. "What would your mother think? You're supposed to be such a proper young lady."

And so it continued, the old dance of stepping forward and back, mastered over many years to toy with his prey. Sometimes he'd let them catch something, just a small morsel for their hopes, but most time he just played.

And she was, for now, more entertaining than most.

There was only room for one person on a throne after all, and he had an insurgent to deal with.  
His gaze slid across the room again, before he snapped his fingers, leaning away from Bella with a final smirk, and effectively gaining attention.

"Harry - tea."  
He pretended he didn't hear the muttered "sir, yes, sir" he got as a mocking response, but by the way Bellatrix reared up like an angry cat in his honour, eyes darkening, he knew she did, and smiled with contentment.

This was going to be interesting indeed.

* * *

_A/N: Tom definitely isn't a Tamaki, haha. I'm glad you're all enjoying this :) Thank you so much for the reviews. As always, plot will build up as I go :P I already have lots of ideas brewing in my head for scenes and substories etc._


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a week; Harry was absolutely exhausted and it was probably starting to show.

He'd had practically no sleep whatsoever in the last seven days, and he'd barely had time to see Ron and Hermione either. Thankfully, he stayed at an Inn in Hogsmeade during term time, so he didn't have to go back to the Dursleys.

He would have probably died from exhaustion if he had, with the inevitable list of chores to earn his keep that they would have had for him. He still had to help out at the Three Broomsticks (called so from old stories about witches in the area), but as a result they gave him free room and breakfast and dinner. It worked out.

Still, je barely had time now! On top of the exacting amount of work he had for all of his classes, and the high standard expected for those classes, and all of the errands he was running for the Host Club in every waking second he wasn't in class, he barely got six hours of sleep a night, though Rosmerta had tried telling him he could have a night off waiting tables occasionally.

He almost hoped the teachers would call an intervention and force him to quit the bloody host club, if it was so obviously not doing his health - and, perhaps more importantly - his grades any good.

But then he'd still owe Malfoy £18,000.

He was glad for the weekend; even if it probably meant an increase in Host activity.

What he was not prepared for was, when he finally had a lunch time in which he didn't bolt down his food on the way to Hogsmeade, or the library, or wherever else he had to be, was to find Bellatrix Black sitting at his table.

Harry blinked, staring incredulously. She was talking with Hermione about some book or other, smiling, and glanced over when she saw him.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sounded surprised, if not still pleased, to see him. Ron was looking dazedly at the Black sister. Hermione looked a bit too pleased to see him really, considering she was talking books..

"Have you met Bella? She's-" Ron began.

"I'm a friend of Tom's," Bellatrix said, with a small smile. "But we've never been formally introduced," she held out a hand to shake.

Yes, he gathered that from seeing her around at the Host Club, with Tom as her host. His more pressing question was what the hell was she doing sitting with his friends?

He nonetheless stepped forwards, smiling a little tightly, and accepted her hand.

"Pleasure to meet you...what brings you to our corner of the world?"  
By Ron's 'shut up' look, he figured his question was too pointed.  
"Do you not want me here?" she asked, far too innocently. There was a gleam in her dark eyes, colouring the edges of her full, red lips.

No, not really.  
"I'm merely surprised," he replied. "Slytherins normally keep to their own company."

"And your type don't normally mix with ours, either," she murmured. "How is it that you came to be in the Host Club then? I'm sure it's a fascinating story."

"Why?" Ron blurted out. "Are you looking to hire him?"  
Harry froze at that suggestion, staring at Ron in utter disbelief for even coming out with. The light in Bellatrix's eyes changed - something sly and coy and vicious which made him want to rear back from her pretty face.

What the hell had he ever done to her!?

"Actually, yes, I'd love to try him out," she smiled. "You'll be there later, won't you?"  
Ron blinked, face dropping. This time, Hermione didn't look anywhere near upset enough on his behalf.

"I'm, uh, I don't actually do any hosting," he said, holding his hands up in an almost placating gesture. "I just run errands and...stuff."

"So you've slept with Riddle?" she asked immediately. Harry's eyes widened.

"NO! Bloody hell - I - what the fuck? Of course I haven't!"  
Her head tilted.

"Then what's the point of you? You just said you were the errand boy and stuff?"

Ron didn't look quite so enchanted her with suddenly, Hermione's head had tilted, a blush on her cheeks, whilst Harry just considered to shake his head mutely for several moments.

"That doesn't mean - I mean, do they normally-?" He drew in a deep breath. "I didn't mean stuff like stuff, shit, I do like cleaning and stuff cause I owe Malfoy money."

"Oh," her expression cleared, but there was still something about her that was putting him on edge, despite her pleasant smile. God, she was crazy! "You know, you'd make more money quicker by being a host. I'd be happy to help you out there." She stood up, with a smile to Hermione and a wink to Ron, sidling close to him, craning against him and pressing her lips to his ear. "I'd be happy to help you out there. You're quite cute really."

Harry cleared his throat, forcing a smile to his lips, tightly, because he didn't need to piss off more powerful rich kids.

"Uh, thanks Bellatrix-"

"Call me Bella," she purred.  
Harry wetted his lips, uncomfortably.

"Right, uh, Bella. Thanks. But I just - I have to go see someone - about this - er - this thing - and - uh -"

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek before sweeping past him, hips swaying.  
"Just think about it Harry. Any friend of Tom's is a friend of mine."

Harry sat down, face blank with numb type of shock, bringing his sandwich out methodically.  
"What just happened?" he asked, looking at Hermione a little desperately. "Does everyone think that errand boy means - means that-"

"No, of course they don't!" Hermione said convincingly. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Well, kinda yeah," Ron said simultaneously. There was a loud thunk as his head slammed against the table, and he mimed aiming a gun to his head and pulling the trigger.

"How!?"

"Well, the Host Club don't normally have an errand boy," Hermione murmured. "They can afford to have things delivered to them with the entry money guests pay, or people volunteer to spend more time around them."

"But it's not like that! Surely everyone who knows me knows it's not like that!"

"They also know that you haven't been expelled and owe Malfoy a lot of money," Ron said. "And you know, there's no proof or anything for it, but you've seen how the club play up their roles and stuff. Like those Lestrange twins, who do that creepy brotherly love thing. Some people would like to think that..."

"But if they want to date these guys why would they like to think?"

Hermione sighed.  
"You know they all have types, yes?" she said.

"Yeah..." he replied warily.

"There are also some, er, people, who would like the idea of a very dominant submissive type of relationship, and most of them are in the year above you, and you're noticeably not in their normal circle of affluence and...um..."

"You're saying that I'm fitting a role for them? And that the host club knows this?" Harry yelped.  
He suddenly remembered Riddle's comment about the maid's comment and cringed.

"Slight hints of one..." Hermione was staring at the table.

"I'm not submissive."

"People have no idea what you're like," Hermione returned, raising her brows. "You don't exactly get out much."

"Says the Ravenclaw," Ron muttered. Hermione shot him a glare.  
Harry really didn't feel like eating his sandwich right now.

"I'm going to avoid them," he decided. "Then people will see the truth. That I'm just doing normal errands, not..."

"Good idea," Ron said, a bit too brightly.  
Harry groaned.

"I should perform a heist and pay Malfoy back that way."

"Or you could become a host," Hermione said. "As that would make them actually meet you, and force them to give you a more individualised, less...group oriented type."

Riddle was going to be insufferable.

* * *

Bellatrix Black was feeling rather smug with her lot in life.

Whilst what she'd insinuated was true enough in the minds of some majority, the pay off was even better. Evans was flinching back away from most of the Host members and could barely look them in the eye, which just gave him a more guilty demeanour.

It didn't help his case that he might have had Daphne orchestrate that Rodolphus, her arranged fiance, heard her flirting with the boy in the library.

Whilst their match didn't have them specifically together now, he knew he could be a possessive, jealous creature beneath his good-natured persona.

Evans seemed bewildered as to why both of the twins were eyeing him stonily. More so, he was taking every care to avoid the lot of them to avoid any further 'misconception', and so even if her Tom did make any advances, they would hardly be accepted now. She suppressed a smirk behind her cup of tea.

Of course, she could have been a petty bitch and dumped all of his belongings into the lake - and she hadn't ruled that out at all, though she'd rather time it for when he had that work due with no time to rewrite - but this solution was far more suited to her preferences. Whilst she had no objection to brute strength to get her way, she was a Black, and she'd try more subtle methods first.

Besides, if Tom really did fancy the boy, he was bound to take notice of her in some manner if she sat with him and made advances. Maybe he might even get jealous - jealous if he fancied the boy, then furious with Evans if he fancied her.

A perfect solution all round, really. Besides, why did she have to use brute strength and overt tactics when she could just get the Lestrange brothers to smash Evans face in? He wouldn't be quite so cute then, would he?

Tom moved over to her, as was customary when she visited, with that charming smile upon his lips. She held up a hand to forestall him, and he paused.

"Actually, I'd like Harry to be my host today, if you don't mind, Tom?"

She relished the darkening of his eyes, that beautiful danger that made him so much more appealing than any other fool in this place.

"Of course, Miss Black," he said, smoothly. "Your wish is our command, as always."  
He indicated for Potter to come over with the crook of his finger, discretely.

The boy looked like a deer stuck in headlights as she gave him his best smile.  
"Why don't you sit down so we can have a nice chat?" she suggested. "I'm sure you can soon back to your errands after entertaining me..."

* * *

Harry didn't know what Bellatrix Black was up to - if she was even up to anything - but he didn't like it and it was making him very nervous.

Still, he cleared his expression, glad that they had a table between them, and kept a light smile on his face.

"Bella, it's nice to see you again."

"I just thought I'd help you kickstart your hosting career," she smiled back. "I like helping people less fortunate than myself."  
He immediately wanted to throttle her, and kept his hands smoothly around his teacup.

"That's very kind of you." He very carefully made no offer of 'if I can ever return the favour...' it was too open, and he hadn't bloody well asked for her pity anyway. "Though I wouldn't say I was unfortunate."

"What do your parents think all of this?" she asked. "They must be very proud of you for getting into Hogwarts."

"They're dead." He said the words bluntly, without emotion.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, leaning over and placing a hand on his. "Was it recent? It must be very hard for you. Do you live on your own then? Or with family?"

"With my Aunt and Uncle," he replied, reluctantly. "What about you? You have two sisters, don't you? Narcissa and Andromeda? I'd love to hear more about you. I'm afraid my own life isn't very interesting."

"I'm sure that's not true," she laughed, squeezing his hand.

He offered a smile in response, wishing he could sink into the floorboards and hide - or go and do anything other than this.

He could sense lots of people looking at them, and many whispers too.

"Is he a host now?"  
"He's actually quite handsome?"  
"He's got beautiful eyes..."  
"Isn't he some type of errand boy?"  
"...poor."

At least he didn't hear anything about him screwing Riddle. Slowly, he may even began to have enjoy himself just a little bit - it was a rest to just be able to sit there listening, as opposed to scrubbing floors. He could have been doing his homework though.

The club hours ended soon enough, so he went to go and put the remnants of the cleaned teacups and everything back in their rightful places, before scooping up his book bag to head out of the Host room - sort of like a common room, with lots of tables and chairs, and sofas and a fireplace, leading to more private areas too, if required, though the host club entertained mostly with attentive flirting and company and conversation, than anything more explicit.

He'd slipped into one of them to change out of his 'host' uniform back into his normal clothes - not about to risk damaging and having to pay more.

He'd barely got the top button open open before he was being slammed back against the wall and spun around, a hand on his throat and then gripping his arms.

"Guys, what the hell?" he growled, only to pause at how the Lestrange brothers were glaring at him, stonily. "Guys..."

"Why are you flirting with my fiance?" Rodolphus demanded, none of the previous jokes on his face now. Harry's mouth ran a little dry, as he struggled against their grip.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Like hell you don't -! Rabastan, hold him down-"

"Wait - what - this really isn't what it seems, I didn't even know you had a -"

Bellatrix? Was his fiance Bellatrix? But she'd flirted him, he didn't understand, she'd...he swore, trying to knee Rabastan, or Rodolphus, or whichever one it bloody well was, in the gut.

"I bet you wish you had friends in higher places now-"  
Had he seriously offended them all with that? They had all been a bit standoffish in the last week, now he thought of it, since he'd insulted Riddle...

Oh shit.  
"Look, this isn't funny-"

"Now, now, boys," a voice purred. "He's not going to make a very good host with a smashed up face."

He shouldn't have sagged with relief. But he did.  
_Riddle._

* * *

_A/N: As always, Harry will not be a pushover, I refuse to write weak Harry in my stories, haha, but yeah...  
__Brownie points to the person who can guess which Ouran inspired idea I'm going to with this? :P Muhahaha. Sorry. Anyway, enjoy, hopefully? Sorry for the fillery part, but yeah...  
_


	5. Chapter 5

The relief disappeared just as quickly when Riddle made no further attempt to order or warn them off him - not that he liked to think he was some sort of damsel in distress who needed saving anyway.

Indeed, Riddle seemed to be studying him with a far too amused expression on his face, as he stepped closer, eyes moving over the Lestranges, seeming to exchange some sort of message between them.

Right then, Harry wished he was privy to the secret code passed in silent glances and head tilts between the Slytherins, because then at least he'd have a bloody clue what was going on!

"How about if we keep it off his face?" Rabastan suggested, grip tightening on his shoulders, even as Harry struggled to free himself all over again at that statement.

Surely Tom wouldn't -?

"Then I have no objection, so long as he can still work," Riddle said, lightly, eyes locking onto his with something dark. God, maybe Riddle really was a mafia boss, and these were his henchmen!

"You're mad!" He didn't yelp. "You're just going to let them beat me up for no good reason!?"

"You're flirting with my girlfriend!" Rodolphus bit out, icily.

"I couldn't give a crap about your creepy bitch of a girlfriend! Bloody hell, you could just punch Riddle instead, considering she flirts with him far more." Harry growled. A beat later, he figured he shouldn't have said that. "I just mean - I don't - "

Riddle held a hand up, lazily, a rather unnerving glint in his eyes that made Harry feel like someone had dropped a cold stone in his gut.

"I didn't realise you needed my help, Harry?" he returned, softly, with an oh-so innocent expression. "You don't need help from people like me, after all, and scorn our circles. You're perfectly capable of looking after yourself, aren't you?"

Harry stared at him in utter disbelief for a few seconds.

"Wow," he said, flatly. "Just as I thought you couldn't drop in my estimation."  
Had anyone of them ever actually heard of common human decency!?

The next second, he grunted in pain as Rabastan kneed him hard in the stomach, and he doubled over, coughing, giving them a foul glare.

So much for a sweet, light-hearted bunch of pranksters! He much preferred the Weasley Twins, who were noted rivals of the Lestrange brothers. Apparently they'd been feuding since they arrived at the school, and the fact that one set were Gryffindor and the other Slytherin probably didn't help matters in the slightest.

"I'd be more than happy to help you, Harry, if you'd only ask," Riddle replied, lightly. "But I wouldn't want to insult your obviously sensitive pride by implying I pity you with unasked offerings for assistance."

Harry glared, furiously, his cheeks flushed - and they were going to rip his clothes, and then it would be £18,200 and that was the last thing he needed!

But he also didn't want to give Riddle the satisfaction of hearing him ask for help, and his mind spun desperately through his options.

"You can't seriously be offended that I said no to being your pet!" he bit out. "I can't have been the first person to do so; having a backbone doesn't give me special snowflake syndrome."

Rabastan looked about to knee him in the stomach again, only for Tom to hold up a hand once more, stepping closer to him, between them. He immediately felt overcrowded, and fed up for that matter.

With all that he had to do, he could hardly afford broken ribs for this nonsense!

"I merely attempted to train you into being a suitable host," Riddle said. "You're the one putting the derogatory connotations on the offer. You could make a lot of money this way, and I'm sure you're interested in that if nothing else."

At the mention of making money, the other's hand reached out, gently unbuttoning more of his shirt, fingers gliding over the exposed skin. Harry's eyes widened at the implications.

He couldn't be serious...could he? Bellatrix's words about errand boys flashed through his head. That...hadn't actually been what they'd hired him for, could it?

Oh screw not pissing off more rich twats, he was in enough trouble as he is. He threw his limited weight forward, smashing his forehead into Riddle's nose and twisting his arms to free himself from the twins' grip. He also brought his knee up hard.

They reeled back from him with shock at the sudden surge of movement, and pain.

Harry wetted his lips, breathing a little heavier, immediately moving from between them to somewhere where he had more space to react, fists clenched at his sides.

Riddle was staring at him, with more appreciation than was entirely appropriate considering his bloody nose.

"My, my, you're a little spitfire," the other almost crooned. "Impressive. You are a man of hidden talents aren't you?"

Harry stared incredulously, his chest heaving, as the twins groaned in pain, glaring at him in turn. Riddle pulled out a silken handkerchief and dabbed at his nose.

Who the hell even used handkerchiefs in the modern day? What was wrong with a tissue!?

"There is something seriously wrong with all of you," he bit out.

"Well, maybe if you didn't flirt with my-" Rodolphus began.

"I didn't flirt with your bloody fiance!" Harry near growled, frustrated to have to keep repeating it. "I don't even fancy her!"

"Bellatrix is the most beautiful girl in school, of course you fancy her," Rodolphus waved a dismissive hand, before pausing. "Or are you gay?"

Harry blinked.  
"Yeah, because the only reason I could possibly not fancy someone is because I'm gay. I mean, no such thing as being attracted to things other than looks or anything, that would just be too weird," he said sarcastically.

"That explains a lot actually," Rabastan murmured, eyes distant. "Like why you got so flustered when ordered to flirt with Tom." Their expressions had cleared alarmingly fast, and Harry wasn't entirely sure they were sane. The next second, they'd swung their arms around him. "Don't worry Harry! You're not without a chance, you're quite handsome in properly fitting clothes. And you can fight, and Tom did come and rescue you. Oooh….Tom, what do you think of a Knight trope for him?"

This couldn't possibly be his life. It was just too bizarre.

"Not even a minute ago you were trying to punch my face in!"

"Well, yeah, I thought you were trying to steal my fiance," Rodolphus said. "It's a matter of principle."

"...and yet she's Riddle's most regular client," Harry muttered.

"Yes, but she's not my type," Tom drawled, eyes fixed on him, though there was still something very cold there. Harry glanced at him before looked away again, jaw clenching.

Harry couldn't help but wonder if it was partially because Rodolphus wouldn't dare try and pin Riddle up against a wall and smash his face up too.

He also couldn't help but wonder if he really had offended them by turning down their perceived offer of 'friendship' and teaching him to be a host. It certainly seemed that way.

"Oh, she's not?" he couldn't help but snap. "Funny, you seem perfectly matched. You're both spoilt, dark haired bitches who set other people up for your own amusement. Ever consider that she knew exactly what she was doing? Or is she obviously too perfect for that?"

"She was trying to make me jealous?" Rodolphus' face softened with wonder, a goofy smile crossing his lips. "Did she talk about me at all?"

Harry glanced at Riddle, quickly - because maybe she was trying to make somebody jealous, but it wasn't her betrothed. The other's boys gaze hardened, and Tom gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Rabastan had glanced at Tom too.

Their eyes met for a moment.

Harry should say something, get his vengeance for the other even trying to beat him up without demanding answers first, but all of a sudden he just really hadn't the heart, even if it could have gone very badly if he couldn't defend himself.

"Yeah. She was trying to make you jealous, I guess. Probably why she sees Tom too."  
There was a bad taste in his mouth.

"Perhaps you should go and see her about all of this," Tom suggested. "They'll be locking the school up soon, as fun as this little rendezvous is. Harry, come along…"

The Slytherin grabbed his arm tightly, towing him out of the room behind him and down the corridor after scooping his bag up.

Harry wrenched his arm away, scowling.

Riddle's eyes raked over him.

"I wouldn't really have let them beat you up," the other said.  
Somehow, Harry didn't believe that for a second. Whether it was true or not, Riddle was a git anyway.

"Yeah? You weren't doing a very good job showing that. When was the stopping point going to be, my lord?" he demanded, something withering in the last title. "Before they gave me two black eyes? When you...what, had me pinned against a bed to make up my debt? What if I didn't ask for help and couldn't help myself, would you have just let it happen?"

"Well, considering I'm not in the habit of assisting stupid people, most likely," Tom said casually. Harry blinked.

"You're unbelievable."

"I would have helped you the second you asked. Your pride would have been your own downfall, not mine. You shouldn't take yourself so seriously."

"That's rich coming from you! Though I guess you take yourself so lightly that having an affair with your friend's fiance doesn't even compute as wrong to you," Harry hissed.

He didn't expect Riddle to start laughing.

"I'm not having an affair with Miss Black. Lovely girl, interesting skill set, but I run a Host Club for crying out loud, Evans. Do you imagine I actually love any of them?"

Harry still wanted to snarl at him.

He picked up his pace, grabbing his bag back off the other defensively. Riddle simply walked faster too.

"Don't you live the other way?" he demanded, when the other was still next to him as they were leaving Hogwarts grounds.

"I'm walking you home."

"Sweet of you," Harry bit out. "But unnecessary. I don't think Prince Charming would have smirked as someone had their face smashed in, so you sort of broke character already-"

"Dark Prince, Harrison," the other said lightly. "I never said I was Prince Charming. I'll leave the wholesome good boy vibe to you. We should double up, it would draw a lot of customers."

Harry blinked.  
"Dark Prince, whatever - what the hell even is a Dark Prince? Like, how is that supposed to be appealing to anyone? You're a twat!"

Riddle snorted.  
"Dark Prince. Dark fantasy. Have you been in a bookshop recently? Girl meets Supernatural creature and falls in love trope? Similar idea. Falling for the bad boy? You get the charisma mixed with getting to flirt with danger, whilst never actually coming under it because it is only within the parameters of the host club. It's roleplay, Evans. People indulge their fantasies without having to necessarily confront the reality of being in such a relationship, such as with servant master tropes too."

Harry rolled his eyes. He supposed it made sense. In a strange sort of way.

"...there are servant/master tropes? Can't people just get a job and it feels damn similar."

Riddle laughed again.

"Hmm, forget Prince Charming. You don't have the upbringing for it. You're not sweet enough. Rebel Prince perhaps? Soldier boy?" the other mused to himself.

"Heavens forbid I don't squash into a box," Harry bit out.

"Would you have preferred the maid costume?" Tom asked innocently. Harry scowled back, refusing to be amused by the other, all things considered.

"I would prefer to pay off my debts in peace," he said. "So please leave. Or does the Dark Prince not take a hint?"

Frankly, he didn't want the boy seeing where he was staying. He didn't want any of the Slytherins knowing about his past and homelife - the privileged prats would only mock him for it.

The other stared at him for a moment, the annoyed darkness in his eyes again.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are incredibly hostile, to everybody? And don't blame it on the Lestrange twins trying to punch you, you've been nothing but unfriendly and turning your nose up to the all of us since this started."

"Forgive me for not enjoying being blackmailed," Harry bit out.

"I offered you an opportunity to move up the ranks. You turned it down. I understand wanting to make your own way in the world, I really do, but you cannot seriously think that society relies on anything other than networking and connections? Are you that stupid?" Riddle returned.

Harry's jaw tightened.

He could see where the other was coming from, but…

"Oh please, the Slytherins have no interest in helping other people move up the ranks. They just want to keep their own power, money and inheritances in their exclusive little cliques, and watch the rest of the world scrape at their feet and give them some more honey for their silver spoons," Harry growled. "You're a bunch of spoilt children who've never had to work a day in your lives!"

"I did," Riddle said quietly.

"Did what?" Harry asked, irritably.

"I worked my way up the ranks. Believe it or not, I used to be like you. All work, and no pleasure because there was never any time for such indulgences, and now you dare fault me for enjoying the perks of rising to the top?"

Harry stared, eyes wide.  
He'd...Riddle acted so much like the other Slytherins, he'd forgotten that the man had built himself up. That he'd started his own company, and made his own fortune. It must have taken a hell of a lot for the other Slytherins to accept him…

He swallowed.

"Sorry," he muttered. "But that just means maybe you should act less like a dick, because you know what it's like."

"Slytherins aren't just born rich. We are an ambitious lot, and if you offer a hand down to all of the rabble they all just leech on and the weight will drag you down too as they claw up. There's a reason the Slytherins don't offer aid to anyone but their own."

Harry's fists clenched at his sides.

Suddenly, the intent seriousness vanished from Riddle as quickly as it came, and the smirk was back, though this time Harry could see everything else lurking beneath the surface too.

"So," the other purred, taking a step forward, cupping his chin. "Perhaps you should be the one changing your attitude. Stop thinking of it as blackmail, and start thinking of it as a door you could never have hoped to otherwise enter. Everything in life is an opportunity, if you know how to exploit it."

Harry tugged his jaw away, eyeing Tom warily.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Burst of altruism?" the other offered, mockingly, smirking. Harry studied him a moment longer, before turning.

"Goodnight, Riddle."

"I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."


	6. Chapter 6

Harry had never felt more fed up in his life, though he seemed to be at one of those stages where every day seemed worse than the one before.

Bellatrix continued her vendetta against him, eyes narrowed against Rodolphus' elegant-puppy-cross behaviour over her, and the lack of bruises on Harry's own face.

His workload was academically only increasing, and he had to maintain a decent pass in all of his subjects to continue his scholarship, that, coupled with all the chores the Host Club were piling on him had him asleep the second his head touched the pillow in the evenings.

Riddle had made no mention of the conversation they'd had, after the whole Lestrange event, though there was a certain gleam to his eyes occasionally when the other watched him.

Somehow, despite the fact his umbrella had broken on the walk to school that morning, none of those things were as bad as this.

The 'Dark Prince', as the bastard liked to be called, was sitting lounging to the side a small, vibrant smirk tucking the corners of his lips, whilst the rest of them were trying not to snicker.

Harry wanted to shrink into a cold, dark corner somewhere, tried to bolster himself, strolling forwards, a smile on his face which he hoped didn't look forced.

He let his fingers drag across Blaise's knee.  
"I was hoping you'd choose me as your host…" he started, voice low and velvety (refusing to admit he was in anyway mimicking Riddle's tone), "we're in the same English class, aren't we? I loved your point on how Iago could be considered a more nuanced and developed version of Don John from-"

They'd already burst out laughing, and Harry's teeth gritted, blushing furiously as he glared at them - Riddle in particular. Riddle and his damnable smirk.

"Oh shut up. You're the one forcing me to do this!"

"I thought you were being stubborn against host practice, not that you are such a terrible flirt," Tom drawled. "I mean, I can see what you're trying to do bringing up the theoretical small details which show you pay attention, but…"

"You need to relax a bit," Rabastan instructed, trying to smother his snickers without success. "You look like you're being tortured."

"I am being tortured," Harry muttered.

"Try again," Riddle instructed, pulling his face straight again, but for the vindictively amused shine to his gaze. "You're getting better than the first pick up line. Or when you 'accidentally' fell into him."

Harry shot him another foul look - not sure if he wanted to give up and avoid making an even greater idiot of himself, or be so successfully charming that they all had to swallow back their laughs and mockery and be in awe instead.

He didn't like the thought of Riddle being better than him, even at something like this, either way. And, stubbornness aside, being a host really would get his debt paid off quicker and at this point unless he wanted to skivvy for them for the rest of his life, that could only be a good thing.

Besides, they had a ball event coming up or something, which apparently he had to be 'prepared' for. They hadn't reached dancing lessons yet, but Harry was pretty sure he'd manage to somehow screw those up too.

He turned to Blaise again, who gave him what was supposed to be an encouraging smile, but that did nothing to hide his slightly disdaining amusement either.

God, at this point, he must just seem like a joke to these people - as if the sole importance of life was to be able to flirt anyway! For god's sake…

He'd never had time for such things, he had more important things to focus on, like surviving school, the Dursleys and making sure he had enough money to eat among other things.

"Maybe if we try another position or scenario?," Zevi suggested, lightly.

Blaise smirked, but stood up obligingly, hands tucked behind his back.  
"So, Harry, tell me something interesting about yourself?"

Harry's mind immediately froze, even as Zabini pulled a flawlessly interested and earnest expression, head tilting to one side.

If there was anything interesting about him at all in the first place, any possible anecdote vanished the second someone asked him about it.

Of course, they'd probably be very interested to know he was a Potter, but he had no desire to go there.

"Er...um...there's nothing interesting about me. I'd...er...much rather hear about you?"

Malfoy sighed, dropping his head into his hands.  
"This is painful. I'm actually starting to feel second hand embarrassment."

Harry scowled at him, opening his mouth to say something scathing, before Riddle had jumped lightly to his feet, sweeping over to him, brushing very close, with that shark-smile on his lips.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true, Harrison," he purred. One hand tucked an errant, too long hair behind his ears from his forehead, just grazing his hand over his skin. "But I suppose I did always love a man of mystery."

Harry absolutely did not squeak and take a step back at how quickly the other moved, close. It made no difference, Riddle seemed to have anticipated the movement, simply stepping forward with him, cupping his cheek instead, softly.

"Everyone has something interesting about them, and I think it's very brave that you fend all for yourself in the world." The other stared at him, not shifting his gaze once from Harry's own eyes, intent. "Maybe you should let me and the rest of the host club look after you." For all the words were soft, there was a rather devilish smile suddenly on Riddle's lips, that spoke of a very different type of 'care.'

Somehow, the whole situation, and Riddle's insistence on his own superiority, riled him up more. Maybe he was just embarrassed by his own reaction, and the way his breath had caught in his throat. He gave a sweet smile in response, craning up on his toes, letting his lips press lightly against the pale shell of Tom's ear.

"Maybe you should, my lord," he drawled. "It might stop you feeling threatened, which your constant efforts to put me down and make me the inferior suggests you are. It's adorable, prince."

Riddle stilled, before he chuckled, softly, fingers tangling tightly into his hair now, keeping him where he'd moved up onto his toes to reach, head tilting, lips hovering above his own.

"I'm flattered," the other murmured. "Also rather interested to note that I seem to be the only one to evoke flirtation in you, however viciously it is meant. Maybe the Lestranges were right. Wouldn't be the first time I've had an admirer, and I confess you're a rather lovely one to have."

Harry bunched his fists in the front of Riddle's shirt to keep his balance, the roots of his hair tugging.

"I'm rather interested to note how obsessed you seem to be on the topic of if I fancy you or not, and your insistence to the point of blackmail of getting me to join your little club," he returned.

He kept his eyes fixed on Riddle, refusing to look away, and, after a moment, to his surprise, saw a slow smile spread across the other's lips. Tom's head tilted, his own mouth against Harry's ear for a moment, breath caressing the sensitive skin.

"Very good. There's hope for you yet."  
His hair was abruptly released, and he kept hold of Riddle's shirt for a moment longer.

Right. Test. Flirting.

Rodolphus whistled.

"That was actually quite good. You're hot when you get pissed off, Evans.

He let his hands drop, gave a smirk back as if that had been his intention all along.

"It's been known to happen."  
He didn't like the half glance Tom gave him, though the Slytherin did nothing to comment, merely turning away and smoothing down his wrinkled shirt.

"Rebel type. He's so much of a caricature of it already, that it's laughable," Tom stated, to the others, to hums of appreciation and murmurs of agreement.

"I'm sorry...rebel type?" Harry's brow furrowed in confusion.

Malfoy picked at his nails.  
"Idealistic, brash hero, snarky to cover up any vulnerability shown in upcoming subplots and in defence of his tragic past. Rebelling against the world, free spirited and fiercely independent, ends up having intense sexual tension with the 'villain' whether canonically or through subtext. You're like the rebel trope personified. Refuses to beg for anything, yadayada. Sort of like James Bond in the new movie. It's so overdone it's practically cliche, but people like it."

Harry blinked.

"I'm never going to understand the way you people work."

He supposed it was better than the maid costume.

* * *

Hermione Granger was undoubtedly nervous, but she couldn't just leave Harry, without checking on him.

It seemed that her best friend had been growing paler and paler by the day, exhausted though he tried to hide it. It was worrying. She was half fearful that he would end up just disappearing under the strain, shrinking and shrinking until there was just a wisp left.

She wasn't the type of girl to feel fond of a Host Club, though she supposed she could see the appeal of it to some. She didn't like to judge, but...she didn't understand why anyone would be interested in such an obviously fake relationship. They were literally hiring out attractive faces and calling it love.

She much preferred a proper connection.

Still, she steeled herself as she walked into the room, mouth dry.

The lounge area they used was one of the best Hogwarts had to offer, elegantly decorated with a large view of the lake from one window. There were sofas and tables dotted around, with comfortable chairs to go with them, and tea and cakes available for consumption.

It was all very classily done, and everyone in the school was buzzing for the Host Club ball coming up, despite how they had a big test on Friday too, which was very important.

Her eyes scanned the room, trying to catch sight of him, wishing Ron had agreed to come with him - though he'd insisted he was a guy and couldn't attend a host club meeting. She personally thought that was rubbish, but she'd leave him to it.

She caught sight of Harry wedged in between Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Lestrange (known to be considered the two most sought after figures within the school, and had a moment of blank as she tried to think what had happened.)

She also did a double-take at the sight of Harry. Whilst he still wore his glasses and overworn, slightly ill fitting uniform around them, he apparently didn't here. His uniform looked like it could have been tailored for him, all sharp crisp lines and smooth material. The glasses were gone, and she'd never realized how much a difference unimpeded vision to Harry's eyes could make. They'd always been a vivid green, but the lack of glass and fringe in the way did...wonders.

She blinked. Slightly disorientated.  
She'd never thought him ugly, rather, like her, to be more plain and uninspiring.

She supposed money had the ability to make everyone look good, and she didn't mean that in a petty way.

Hermione was broken from her reverie when a hand came to rest lightly on her shoulder.  
She turned, to find herself face to face with a charming smile.

"Hello...I don't believe I've seen you around here, before." She recognized the face of Zevi Prince immediately. Dark eyes, dark hair, and a slim figure. He almost reminded her of Riddle, but he was more...contained in his aura. There were small ink smudges on his fingers, and callouses from holding pens for so long.

He'd been on her team in the Math's challenge, he was supposed to be very clever, though they'd never really talked. He followed where her gaze was, and paused on Harry for a moment, before back to her.

"If you wish to talk to any of the hosts, you tend to have to book a slot beforehand," he said, mildly. "Come, let me get you a drink and I'll show you how it works around here, Hermione."

He remembered her name? Of course, she knew the little details like that were a trick too, but…

His hand slipped into hers, nonchalantly, as he pulled her towards a table.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

* * *

Harry could practically feel the silent loathing radiating off Bellatrix, as she leaned over him slightly, one hand playing with a strand of his hair, the other resting on the upper end of his knees. Tom's posture was mirrored, whether deliberately or not, but it was definitely drawing attention and he felt slightly trapped between them.

Miss Black was obviously using him as a device to get at Riddle, and Riddle...well, he didn't actually know about Riddle. It seemed the man was running full tilt with his idea of two contrasting tropes, and the whole rebel thing.

Not that it was, actually, difficult for Harry to go along with it. He didn't have to act, which unnerved him a little. Riddle leaned in, he made snarky comments, and their audiences practically swooned.

Riddle was carrying most of the weight of the whole act, in his opinion, and maybe in other circumstances he would feel guilty over that. But, well, if he was honest he wasn't sure what 'trope' he would be falling into, left to his own devices.

But, as the pads of their fingers traced idle patterns and circles in his skin, he knew this was war.

He just didn't know where he fit on the battlefield yet.

At least it was going to be a memorable year.

* * *

_A/N: Me again. Hi! So this story might start taking an almost oneshotty style. Like, a series of oneshots that connect together, more like in the model of TV episodes. But maybe not. We shall see. But it shall be, as my source material suggests, a trope-heavy journey, which should cause it's me be a mixture of hopefully clever parody and a series plot. But yeah. Enjoy! (I hope). As always, reviews are appreciated. I found this funny, but I have a twisted sense of humour most the time._


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